Glimpses 2
by Sandra S
Summary: A collection of short - sometimes very short - episode-tags for Season 2
1. Withdrawal

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Withdrawal

* * *

"So..." Jones threw Diana a sidelong glance as he closed his briefcase and invited her with a small tilt of the head to accompany him as he came around his desk. "The big day's finally here."

"Finally, yeah," she agreed as she joined him, also directing her steps towards the doors. "You've got the anklet?"

"Yep, going to meet Peter at the bank. By now he should have picked up Caffrey and let him loose on their security system. With all the information he had us collecting – poor thing doesn't stand a chance."

They both chuckled until they stopped in front of the elevators where Jones pushed the down button. Then the smiles slowly left their faces.

"Peter fought long and hard to reinstate Caffrey's deal," Jones remarked finally.

"Two months." Diana nodded quietly.

They exchanged a quick glance. Looked away again. There was the first faint sound of the approaching cab. Jones took a slow breath.

"Anything goes wrong this time … he'll go down for it."

"Not as long as he has us to watch his back!" Diana's reply came sharp and uncompromising then her voice softened as the elevator doors slid open and she sent him a look full of meaning. "Both of us."

"It's what we do," Jones agreed with a crooked smile. He stepped in and gave her a parting nod she firmly returned.

It was only after the doors had closed securely between them that he added quietly, "But we both know: If he needs someone to confide in – he will choose you."


	2. Need to Know

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Need to Know

* * *

Rain was hitting the windows in short waves, their panes black mirrors against the stormy, overcast night outside. The light from the single lit lamp on the huge desk was glittering unsteadily in the water drops pooling along the window frames. Drawing a deep breath Dylan finally averted his eyes from the dark silhouette he cast in the wet glass.

Instinctively his hand found its way in the inner pocket of his expensive dinner jacket and he pulled out the folded campaign brochure tucked inside. After straightening the old, worn paper he simply stood for a moment and looked down at it, turning it slightly so the light behind him fell on Gary Jennings's handsome face beaming up at him.

For more than twenty-five years that campaign brochure had been his constant companion. It had been in his pocket the day he got married. The day his daughter was born. It had been there as he stood at his father's grave and when he made his decision to run for Senate. It had sat with him in committees and debates both hot and boring, had traveled with him around the world.

Not as a perverse kind of role model or out of some twisted sense of guilt because he had blown the whistle on him – as political opponents still hinted from time to time.

No.

He carried Gary Jennings photo with him … to not forget. To always and everywhere remind himself that in politics there were no lasting secrets. That every dark spot, every misstep was bound to come out one day. That you always got caught. To remember – always – that he had sworn to himself he would never become like that man he had once admired. To never disappoint anyone the way he had been disappointed.

A respectful knock at the door broke through the sound of the rain and Dylan inhaled deeply, turning around just in time to see his secretary poke her head in.

"Mr President? It's time."

Dylan gave her a smile and a nod as he tucked the brochure safely back into his pocket, fingertips lingering on it just a moment longer.

"Thank you, Ronda. I'm ready."


	3. Copycat Caffrey

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Copycat Caffrey

* * *

The whole thing should have been hilarious. Because, come on – Peter posing as a gangster? With Mozzie bossing him around while feeding him lines? And that delighted look on his face when he hears him repeat his last phrase word for word! Only problem is, as Neal sits there and listens to Peter's deep, sonorous voice delivering those threats so calmly, so seriously … it suddenly isn't funny any more.

Because Peter is a terrible actor. Neal KNOWS Peter is a terrible actor. Oh, he has seen him pose convincingly as some shady businessman once or twice but that was always based on his real, steady, self-assured personality. He might pull off the bumbling FBI agent for a short time as well but as soon as it comes to pretending he is absolutely hopeless … the whole Dr. Tannenbaum-slash-Melissa affair a case in point.

And yet there he is now, self-confidently rewording Mozzie's lines as he pleases; that competent, trustworthy voice of his – that has anchored more than one desperate victim … had anchored him after Kate's plane exploded even if he had been too numb to understand the words – now a low, deliberate, frighteningly realistic growl, sending an icy shiver down one's spine. And no.

Suddenly Neal can't find this even remotely funny any more.


	4. By the Book

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

By the Book

* * *

"Peter." Hughes quietly waved his best agent over with two fingers and turned slightly away on the walkway in front of their offices, to keep the conversation more private. "What's our status?"

"The team is still tracking down owners of camcorders and cell phones who have used them around the critical time in the park." Peter nodded towards the almost deserted main area of the office. "So far they have managed to find eight, bringing the devices in as we speak. The tech guys have nearly finished setting up their equipment to analyze the data."

Hughes glanced fleetingly at the conference room, the only space currently buzzing with people and crossed his arms a bit tighter in front of his chest.

"Peter, do we have anything yet to tie Navarro to a white collar crime?"

Peter's little grimace indicated he knew what Hughes was getting at.

"You can't mean to hand this over now, sir," he whispered insistently, "We have a solid strategy and our people already know what's to do. Bringing someone new in will only waste time – time the girl might not have. Besides, Haversham is cooperating with us because he trusts Neal and knows me and Jones. I'm kind of afraid to think of what he will do if he has to face an unfamiliar agent."

"Don't you mean you are afraid of what the two of them will do?" Hughes asked dryly.

Involuntarily they both turned and looked back at the conference room where Caffrey was trying to talk his strange little friend into a chair – and away from a rattled-looking technician – with rather mediocre success. Hughes and Peter winced simultaneously.

"On second thought, don't answer that."

"I won't, sir."

For a moment they looked at each other.

"We can bring this girl home, sir," Peter said earnestly, "I'll take full responsibility for the decision to keep my team on it."

"For that you are not high enough up in the food chain, Peter." Hughes sighed and held up a hand, stalling his agent's next words. "All right. I'll sanction this. But keep Caffrey and his friend in line or there will be hell to pay if the girl comes to harm."

"Thank you, sir," Peter breathed with honest gratitude.

"In _LINE_, Peter. And for heaven's sake, find something to link Navarro to a white collar crime!"


	5. Unfinished Business

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Unfinished Business

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Elizabeth has been on three dates with Special Agent Peter Burke when her allergy to birds becomes too much and she has to give away her beloved pair of American Parakeets.

She tried so hard to avoid it but her eyes were burning whenever she was in her apartment, the cough had started to hurt and her doctor had told her in no uncertain terms that she was on the best way to develop some kind of asthma if she didn't do something about the situation. She has had them for two years and it feels like loosing a child; which is kind of ridiculous because it's not like they _died_ or something just that the animal shelter will have to find them a new home. Still, it is a home _not here_ and that evening she sits on the couch and cries softly to herself after canceling dinner plans with Peter. And considering his typically male, uncomprehending "because of your parakeets?" as reaction to her telling him why she is not in the mood (to which she hangs up on him) she guesses unkindly that it is probably good riddance.

Shortly after eight he is at the door with pizza and beer and though she can see her tears secretly freak him out he stays.

They settle down on the couch, slowing snuggling closer together as she speaks about how much she always wanted to have these birds and how happy she was when she finally got them and curses the unfairness of it all. And her emotional klutz of a just-about-boyfriend, who's so hopeless at flirting, simply listens to her; with an earnestness and solid presence that soothes her heart. He doesn't try to outdo her pain by coming up with some "I once lost something too" story; he doesn't belittle it with old platitudes of the "It will all get better with time" kind. He's just there. Calm. Understanding. At one point almost shyly sneaking an arm around her and talking about this (an old case) and that (baseball) when she's ready for it.

It is there, with her head on his shoulder and a can of beer in her hand, that she truly realizes that this might be something to _last_. After all – it would be crazy to let go of a man with such great bedside manners, now wouldn't it?


	6. In the Red

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Dialog in italics are quotes from the episode 2.06 - In the Red

* * *

In the Red

* * *

_"Hey, it's me. Peter Burke is here." _

Repeat.

_"Hey, it's me. Peter Burke is here." _

Repeat.

_"Hey, it's me. Peter Burke is here." _

Repeat.

Sara Ellis chews on her lip as she stares at the computer screen.

Of course she knows Burke played her. And she knows he knows she knows he played her. What choice did she have, after all, after he had brought up the kid but to let Caffrey get away with breaking into her home – again? As a conman Neal's weapon is his smile. With Peter being Peter his weapon are facts and his stunning believe in right and wrong that is like a mirror held in front of you. And both men wield their blades masterfully, she has to admit to that.

Still, she has never liked being manipulated and while she might have given in to Peter request and did not press charges she normally would have found other ways to make Caffrey's life a living hell. So with revenge in mind she has plugged the voice recording in her computer … and now she doesn't seem able to get away from it. There is something there, in those few last words of Kate Moreau, the unexpectedness of the end, that holds her. Tethers her. Does something strange in the pit of her stomach. She has no real words for what it is (and doesn't want to) only knows it makes her play those short, critical seconds over and over again.

_"… does this change the plan? …" _

Repeat.

_"… does this change the plan? …" _

Repeat.

_"… does this change the plan? …" _

Repeat...


	7. Prisoner's Dilemma

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This episode actually ended up getting not only two but _two very different_ tags.

* * *

Prisoner's Dilemma

* * *

_So here's one serious... _

It was strange. Somehow Neal had expected to like Agent Franklin.

The man had had an inappropriate relationship with his CI, distrusted the Marshals, went on the run and broke into Volker's office. He was obviously smart, tenacious, dedicated … sort of like an improved version of Peter with a little more flexibility about certain rules, so really, what was there not to like?

Only then he met him and … he didn't know. There was the way Franklin avoided eye contact when Neal greeted him after disabling the Lamborghini's tracking device. As if he was embarrassed to be seen with him. As if he was some sort of dirt under his feet or not worth being acknowledged.

It … hurt.

It made him decidedly uncomfortable that Franklin was now the one to watch Peter's back while his anklet was this huge, treacherous beacon monitored by Deckard.

Because Peter – for all his flaws and irritating habits – had never ever treated him like that.

* * *

… _and here's one silly. _

"Can I –?"

"No."

"Not even –?"

"No."

"Fine. But for the record? Suit? A little tap with a bulldozer would make this much more authentic and I just happen to know where to get –"

"For the last time, Mozzie: No, we won't total a priceless Lamborghini Murciélago Roadster for this con, government sanctioned or not. Photoshop will do just fine."


	8. Company Man

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Company Man

* * *

_"There are more important things in life than a nice view. Like having people in your life you care about. I don't want to imagine the man I would be without those people."_ Peter Burke, White Collar 2.08 - Company Man

* * *

The view from the spacious office was breathtaking yet the man standing at the huge windows was paying no attention to the rooftops of Manhattan spread out in front of him. He was tall, still of powerful build, wearing the expensive, tailor-made suit with the unconscious disregard born of daily routine. Hardly a muscle twitched in his angular face as he stared blindly ahead; slowly, mechanically rotating the nearly empty cup of espresso in his fingers, the rest of the dark, strong liquid swirling soundlessly along the smooth round of white porcelain.

For true insiders of the business Peter Burke was a legend, among enemies and admirers aptly nicknamed The Enforcer. A self-made man, father a construction worker, he studied advanced math and accounting on a scholarship then went corporate after college, following the advice of people around him though it meant giving up other dreams. From that moment on his only way was up; hard work, a razor-sharp mind and absolute loyalty to the companies he worked for finally leading him to be the second mightiest man of Novice Systems, a giant among tech firms, answering only to the CEO and founder Wesley Kent himself. Employees envied and feared him, knew him as hard but fair as long as you gave the best for your corporation but may God have mercy on you if you did anything to damage it because Burke would not. He was the man who got things done, kept people in line, brought his company through any audit though his face almost never appeared in any headlines; his lifestyle – while not exactly modest with a penthouse suite, stables in the Hamptons and a collection of cars to die for, not to forget a taste for exquisite and expensive coffee – was still far from extravagant … which might have been mostly due to a decided lack of a Mrs Burke. But his rise in business had come at a price.

Someone politely clearing his throat at the door prompted Burke to finally still his restless twisting of the cup and turn around.

"Mr Burke," Wesley Kent's new personal assistant of only a few days said with a smile of just the right degree, not too intimate but not too distant either, "Mr Kent asks if you would join him for lunch, today."

If he felt uncomfortable under the long, unreadable gaze of the mightier man, he didn't show it. His smooth features remained a picture of attentiveness, readiness for any reply in his brilliant blue eyes.

"My apology to Wesley, Nick," Burke answered at last, "But I already have an appointment I can't cancel."

The young man bowed his head respectfully and walked away, and only the lightning-fast, assessing glance he shot back over his shoulder didn't quite correspond with his usual facade of the perfect assistant.

Burke did not miss the quick appraisal but contrary to any other day he didn't bother making mental note of it. Moving over to the enormous yet elegant designer desk he set the cup down then finally looked at the leather briefcase placed on the polished wood. His chest silently rose and fell with a deep breath.

Yes. He had paid a price to reach the position he held.

Loneliness was one part of it. To swim with sharks you had to be a shark, and since he was no man for games and pretense he had learned to guard himself well even if it meant drifting away from former friends and family. Another part was … loosing your innocence about the ways of the world.

Oh, not that he had ever dirtied his hands with something illegal. Or at least with nothing extraordinary. There were just the little tricks and schemes, the little white lies and tweaking of numbers, more a goal-oriented interpretation, really. If everybody did it, it could not be wrong, right? Competition was brutal, after all, you played by its rules or you drowned and there was always someone waiting to take your place. It was life, it was how things worked and as long as it was for the good of the company paying your check it was acceptable; a clean business with its own code of honor, at least for him. Only suddenly it wasn't that easy any more.

Abruptly Burke took up the briefcase and walked out his office, walked out of Novice Systems, never hesitating another second.

Because no, now it wasn't that easy any more. Not since he was the only man besides Wesley Kent who knew the allegedly stolen prototype of Novice Systems's quantum microprocessor did not work. The only man besides Kent who knew it would never work in time to win the competition for the defense contract. The only man to whom Kent had practically confessed that he had killed Josef Hayes because he threatened to expose his intentions of selling their knowledge to a foreign government. Not since he suddenly looked at himself in the mirror and could no longer live with what he saw.

And that was why this lunch break Peter Burke walked into the FBI with a briefcase full of incriminating evidence against his company, knowing full well that over this he might go to prison too.

It was one of life's little ironies that when the FBI raided the Novice Systems's building they accidentally also netted the infamous Neal Caffrey, who just happened to run a con in it.


	9. Point Blank

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Point Blank

* * *

Kate is dead.

The room echoes with silence. June is out of town, Mozzie is … wherever Mozzie is and Kate is dead. But how can she be dead if it doesn't feel like it? How can she not be down on the street, somewhere, anywhere? How can she be dead if the pain's edge has already blunted? How – if he sometimes wakes up and doesn't remember, if sometimes his first thought isn't of her?

Kate is dead.

The box with bullets is mocking him. So small, so elegant, so smooth in his hands as he sets them out in front of him one by one. So familiar. Vengeance cast in steel and lead. For so long the only thing he has been able to think about was vengeance. Just like Jessica. Like Fowler. Fowler who killed the murderer of his wife. He was so sure it was Fowler who killed Kate. He still feels the gun in his hand, the trigger under his finger.

He came so close to killing Fowler.

But it was Peter. Peter coming to the airstrip killed Kate. But how can he hate Peter? Peter who kept him from running into the flames, Peter who held him tight as he screamed, dragged him back, the heat of the fire scorching both their faces. Peter in the van, thanking him for his trust when he has just sent Alex to steal the music box.

The room is too small.

He's on his feet but he can't escape, wherever he turns are Mozzie's notes and diagrams, the mystery of the music box that killed Kate. Would she still be alive if he had never gone after the box? If there had never been any rumor he had it? The bullets glitter in the light. Useless. Useless! It sounds like hail as he sends them flying.

Kate is dead. A bullet won't bring her back. The secret of the box can't bring her back.

Music in notes and charcoal. Charcoal smeared on his hands as he crumples the paper. Charcoal smearing on his face as he rubs it, in his hair as he runs his fingers through it. Dark stains, like blood, like ash, they look so curious on his skin. He can still taste the scent of burning fuel. Of charred plastic, burnt fabric. There is barely anything left of Kate's seat. Kate. God, Kate.

Peter, not right now.

Kate is dead.

Peter, please, don't send me home.

He almost killed a man today.

Please. Don't make me be alone in my head right now.


	10. Burke's Seven

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Auther's note: ...now how exactly did Mozzie and his wheelchair get up to Neal's apartment?

* * *

Burke's Seven

* * *

"Okay, hold it, hold it –"

"Lift your side higher – higher, Caffrey!"

"I am, just – watch the banister, watch it! Ow. Ow!"

"Aaaaah!"

"Not helping, Moz, NOT helping!"

"You were about to drop me!"

"No one is dropping you, Mozzie, now careful, careful, Jones, just a little bit..."

"I've got it – got it, Peter … Caffrey can you...?"

"This thing is amputating my fingers here!"

"You are doing this all wrong! You must –"

"Mozzie – quiet! Neal, more to the right. The right! And now Jones, with me on one – two –"

"Push, PUSH!"

"Now, and –"

"Almost there, almost..."

"Well, finally! Now? What are you waiting for, Neal? Injured man here, you could at least open the door for me."

"Moz –! Ach... Right, Mozzie, right, I coming..."

…

…

"Peter? Did we just haul an electric wheelchair up all those stairs to Caffrey's rooms _with the little guy still in it?_"

"I know, Jones. I know."


	11. Forging Bonds

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Forging Bonds

* * *

Peter looks out of the window of the cab that is bringing him back to Brooklyn and watches the streets of the city glide by in the early morning light. He should be tired but instead is almost abnormally awake, this strange, brilliant state you reach after making it past your lowest point. The crash will come – rather sooner than later, now that he's older – but right now he feels more alive than ever as the talk of the long night plays through his mind again and again.

The tangled web that are the lives of Neal and Kate and Mozzie and Alex. And his own too as he has to admit if he is honest with himself. Then there is Vincent Adler and the secret of the fractal antenna … but no. He won't think about that right now. Now he will not worry about the future. Instead, he will remember the good things of the past.

Like Elizabeth and getting Satchmo and how they first moved into their house; the chaos and the happiness. Jones, standing in his new office, gunning for a place on his team. Oh, and Diana, pouring coffee for the others like a good little probie – he can just imagine her reaction if anyone expected her to do that now. She has risen so far above what she was then, has become a skilled investigator, a tough agent, built a terrific career … but sometimes he can't help it, he looks at her and still sees the nervous girl right out of the academy. She was his first probationary agent of his own, after all, the first one his sole responsibility. That stuck. Actually – if he remembers correctly – he might have even introduced her to Neal as 'his probie' on their first case together though she had of course been a seasoned agent of more than four years by then.

Peter suddenly smiles as he puts his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.

It is said that your children will always be your children no matter how old they get. Well, it seems the same goes for probies, especially your first one...


	12. What Happens in Burma

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

What Happens in Burma

* * *

Elizabeth was humming softly to herself coming down the stairs then paused abruptly as Peter's voice suddenly floated up to her.

"Hi, dad, it's me – Peter … No, no, everything is fine, we are fine. I just thought I'd call and ask how you are doing? … Yeah? Good … Good … Tonight? … Uh-huh … Who's coming over? … That's great … Well, you know. Always the same. Chasing bad guy and catching them. And other things … No – no, it's just. This last one it was – kind of – about fathers and sons and – and it was just one of those cases that make you realize how, well, fortunate you have been. Yourself."

On the stairs Elizabeth quietly touched her fingertips to her mouth, blinking back tears. Finally Peter spoke again with a little chuckle.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess that was a compliment, dad … Nah. Don't worry. I'm fine. I just – I want to fix this and I can't and – you know me, it's driving me up the walls … Sure. Nobody can … Are those your guests? … No! No, no, no, no, I don't want to keep you! Have fun, all of you … Yeah, I'm sure. It's been good talking to you, dad. Bye, enjoy the game."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and slowly went down the rest of the stairs. Peter sat on the couch, phone dangling loosely in his hand and on impulse she went over to him, tilted his head up and planted a firm kiss on his lips.

"Hmm," Peter hummed when she finally released him, "How did I earn that?"

"Oh, I don't know," El replied light-heartedly, heading for the kitchen, "I just felt in the mood."


	13. Countermeasures

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Countermeasures

* * *

The printing plate is light in his hands. An impressive piece of skill, workmanship … art, even. The final score you dream about. But to use it would mean crossing a line. Making a choice he is not ready to make. And yet, while part of him knows the plate should be destroyed or maybe find its resting place in a FBI evidence storage room … he can't find the strength for this final step. There may be no such thing as a final score, only the next one. The dream is there nevertheless.

So sighing softly he carefully places the plate on the middle section of the custom-made coffee table and feels beneath it for the lever that activates the mechanism. It works with a gentle whirr of rotating parts, hiding the plate away; shelter for a rainy day. He draws a deep breath as he hears June's familiar step on the stairs.

"Byron?"

"In here, darling. I'm coming."


	14. Payback

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Payback

* * *

It's bitter, this coffee. Bitter as the worry churning in her gut. Diana nervously twists the plastic cup with the black liquid in her hands.

She's not sure why she is doing this. Going against FBI politics, giving Neal – con artist Neal Caffrey of all people! – free rein to break even more rules and, of course, just sitting here on her butt while her boss is out there in the hands of some criminals; maybe hurt or even dead already... But who is she kidding, really? She knows exactly why she is doing this. It's for the same reason she took the first flight out of Washington when she got his call, hid the music box though it was legally evidence and didn't hesitate one second to join Burke's Seven, as they still call it fondly.

Because it is for Peter.

As a probie fresh from the academy, when it comes to applying what you think you know in the real world, you can end up learning the ropes from a good agent but you can just as easily end up learning them from a bad one. By sheer luck she ended up learning from one of the best. Peter not only helped her to hone the skills and abilities she needed to do her job well but he also taught her how things truly worked out there, to respect the victims, to be thorough, to never give up. He taught her to love what she was doing. Though his teaching method might have been not so much a gentle "taking her under his wing" but giving her a firm push between the shoulder blades and telling her to trust her guts AFTER her guts had learned their business.

Despite the situation a short smile flashes across her face and she sips more of the awful coffee.

She might not have had a really typical childhood but like most people she will always love and respect her parents for being her parents and would do just about anything for them. Apparently the same principle works for probies and their mentors.

And if it takes trusting Neal Caffrey and risking her career to get Peter back … well, it is not too high a price, in her opinion.


	15. Power Play

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Power Play

* * *

June and Mozzie kept staring thoughtfully at the door several minutes after Burke had left Neal's apartment.

"He learned very fast," June said finally.

"Uh-huh," Mozzie nodded slowly.

"Faster than anyone I have ever seen, normally you need years to master the bell jacket in this perfection."

"That's true."

They shared a long look. Then turned back to the door where the FBI agent had disappeared and June gave a wondrous little shake of her head.

"He's a natural."

"Oh, 'that it should come to this!'" Mozzie moaned quietly and raised his eyes heavenward, "Nothing is sacred any more."


	16. Under the Radar

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's WARNING: This is not a happy piece, dealing with rather dark emotions and (OC) actions, so read at your own risk.

* * *

Under the Radar

* * *

Peter is twelve when he comes to the stable and discovers Mr Gardiner has destroyed his horse.

Of course it was not _really_ Peter's horse, his parents could never afford it. It belonged to Mrs Gardiner; but she was away very often and so she and Mr Gardiner had allowed him to exercise it almost every day. There were long summer days of riding wherever he wanted, of grooming and helping in the stable and since this year he had not been able to go to baseball camp (the money needed elsewhere because his mother's refrigerator _and_ oven had failed within only a few days) he was there so often it actually did feel like having his own horse. Mr Gardiner – a busy, hard-working man well respected in the neighborhood – always had a friendly word for Peter despite his full schedule, even gave him a real riding lesson once or twice and let him practice on low jumps. Yes, he even as good as promised Peter he might ride in a competition later in the year as reward for his reliable work! And all of a sudden Peter stands in the dusty yard and his world has shattered into a million pieces.

A farmhand eventually takes pity and tells him what happened. How a friend of Mr Gardiner has seen Mrs Gardiner in New York with another man, cheating on her husband. How Mr Gardiner had smashed a chair through one of the windows of his house when he was told, how he had then stalked over to the stable, white and grim, with a gun in his hand.

Peter somehow gets home, so shocked he can't even cry, scaring his mother as he walks in the door looking like a ghost. When she has finally dragged the story out of him she just holds her shaken son tight, rocking gently, only later trying to explain to him that people sometimes do cruel, heartless things without thinking about the consequences or who else they might cause pain.

For his mother the whole affair shows that revenge is never a solution.

For his father it proves you can never know someone completely.

As for Peter, he takes both lessons to heart. He is less naive now, a good part of his childhood innocence stripped away by the experience; the easily trusting boy already on his way to the sharp-minded, guarded, pragmatic man he will eventually be. And while the passing years bring other joys, other sorrows, Peter never forgets how it was to come to the stable and find his animal friend gone and he never again feels anything as strong as that first searing stab of pain and betrayal, violent enough to rip one's soul apart.

Until he kills a man by shooting him in the back – without a warning, without hesitation and against any personal code he might have – to save someone he considers a friend.

And then the burning scrap of Neal's painting lands at his feet.

* * *

The end


End file.
